Time to say adios to Oxfordshire, and head to London for a bonus day of pub ticking.
I'd normally go home at this point, drink water, eat cheese and cucumber sandwiches, sleep for about 48 hours, but September's #CruelChurn has taught me I need to tick harder.
Perhaps it was the excitement of SE London Micros, but I'd had little more than three hours sleep and wasn't finding much motivation for the job at hand. Coffee helped. A bit.
I was actually staying in Epsom, home of the salts and printers and horses, which is Surrey if you think about it. Was the cheapest option without returning to Sutton again.
They wouldn't let me take advantage of the 'early check in' option due to some administrative mishap which only Premier Inn could explain so instead I dump my overnight bag behind reception, take the smaller BRAPA shoulder bag, and head back out into the grey Epsom air. Saved myself £10 so that's a bonus, innit?
First port of call is Catford, which is sort of Forest Hill if you squint. 20 minute walk, waved at my old fave Blythe Hill Tavern, quick chat with a confused bus lady. "I'm from the north, I cannot help you!" Soon I reached pub one .....
Oh hang on, let's try that again .....
Prefer the original. I was making a Sylvanian Families joke if you hadn't guessed, for I'd entered Sylvan Post, Forest Hill (2825 / 5309) and the main staff duo do resemble helpful fluffy forest dwellers. "Would you like a beer mat?" she says as I take my pint from the bar. Intuitive! I must've looked like a guy who'd suffered beermatless Oxon for an entire week. I grabbed two. I didn't know where my next beermat was coming from. A former Antic, which means it feels exactly like an Antic without that pissy Volden beer, it has some 'quirk' but is on the whole quite an echoey cavernous room. Some excitable beardos walk in with a buggy, I roll my eyes like "it's a bit early for this" and I'm sure the main bloke understands and gives me a sympathetic nod. I was already feeling an upturn in the 'human' element compared with my past week, and this was spiggin' SE London for heaven's sake! The Five Points Pale is drinking fresh, as it so often does. But the highlight comes on the way out when I return my empty glass. "Did you get us ticked off okay then?" Yes, despite sitting in a booth at the far end, they'd spied my GBG, highlighter, and worked out why I was here. Talk about 'on the ball'. It's the water in SE23 you know, sharpens the mind.
These two deserve a BRAPA award for services to beermats, friendliness and pub perception
Catford was where my second tick lay, only a 20 minute walk back from where I'd come from, but when I saw a bus, I thought 'why not?'
Unfortunately, we turn an unexpected corner and a stylish lady with beret and fierce lipstick informs me we're bound for Tottenham Court Road. Oh dear! I hop off somewhere near Dulwich and correct myself. Never have I been so glad to reach Catford .....
Pub two was not quite what I had expected ......
Some tatty little WMC was in my mind as I approached Catford Constitutional Club, Catford (2826 / 5310), not a humungous former Argos. Suddenly the Sylvan Post looked intimate. A wonder they got a modicum of heating into the place, so fair play. This one really is an Antic, so I was on the pissy Volden. Once again, it is the staff who save the day. This young dude loved my red leather jacket (NOT PVC if you are watching Mr Cooking Lager!) and soon has his phone out showing me his collection , most notably some rare Japanese biker one. Then, from my large comfy booth, I'm aware of a domestic in the booth next to me. An Asian entrepreneur with spangly watch is trying to appease his lady friend but to no avail. She stands up, composes herself and gives me a pained smile, then booms "FUCK YOU SWEETHEART, I'M OFF. BYEEEE" It was a mic-drop moment of Barack Obama proportions. He finishes his drink and runs after her. I'm almost sad when they return 10 minutes later, partly reconciled.
Dude
Next stop Hayes. Would it amaze?
I'm talking about the SE London (practically Kent) version, not the amazing NW one where I've witnessed a head shaving for charity in Wetherspoons, and the frailest old Guinness drinker being told to behave himself in the most Irish way possible. "No foighting and no swearing, ya bugger!"
A traditionally pubby exterior for one so micro, but if you're expecting Wrexham's Royal Oak once you get inside, you might feel a bit deflated. But that's often the real ale way, and this was the Real Ale Way, Hayes (2827 / 5311) . A motivated lady in a red scarf greets me warmly, the third consecutive warm staff interaction in a row - a new SE London record. Every customer is a 60 year old bar blocker, but as they are contributing to the general hubbub and ambience, I'd concede 'not all bar blockers are scum of the earth'. #NotAllBarBlockers Get it trending. There's a piano by the entrance doing no more than a random pile of logs, and some slippery floral bench cushions for me to rearrange at 3 minute intervals. Kent Citra is a fine drop too, so all in all, my pecker (that does mean chin, right?) remained high throughout.
One stop back in the direction I'd come from, our fourth pub today looked remarkably familiar .....
Reminiscent of that Simon Pegg film 'The World's End' where they're on a pub crawl and the pubs look identical, this was the micro equivalent of that at Real Ale Way, West Wickham (2828 / 5312) with layout and beer blackboard exactly where I'd left them in Hayes! But whilst the previous one hadn't irritated me on any level, the WW vehicle had me feeling gripey. I order this fantastic stout called Shivering Sands, barman obviously approves but rather than speaking to me about it, he turns to a local and starts raving about it, like I'm invisible! Even more baffling as he has a northern accent and Stuart Maconie shirt. Fewer folk in here, but local 'character' with Babs Windsor voice has enough chat & anecdotes to fill an entire pub. Strictly and Eastenders (obviously) are discussed. I feel a bit isolated perched at my posing table, feelings I never had in Hayes. Oh well, at least the loos are more spacious.
I return my glass with a "really was a fantastic stout that, thanks!" and again, I get the cold cock!
Guess it was inevitable London rudeness would strike at some point, but as Meatloaf nearly sang, three outta four ain't bloody bad.
I was utterly cream-crackered by now. But the finishing line was beckoning. Or is that beckenham? (THANKS!)
For the second time today, I'm surprised to see a less old-skool sort of pub tick than I'd been expecting. Let's face it, Three Hounds, Beckenham (2829 / 5313) doesn't sound like a beer cafe and bottle shop does it? But those lads you see outside make a jokey comment about my rubbish photography, and that paves the way for a return to the earlier 'fabulous people' which has been the surprise cornerstone of my day so far. Space is at a premium, but I'm allowed to temporarily sit at a table reserved in 15 minutes time. In fact, the loo is almost as spacious as the pub itself, with its Henry Hoover and highchair! Only one handpump on, I later learn this is a sore point for the pub due to some cellar related issue and they are 'GUTTED'. It is a green hopped beer too - a style I never enjoy despite green being my favourite colour! The reserved table gang arrive, so I apologise and start moving but they are all "ahhh, sit with us". They are from Kendal, but also local, we had an Alan, possibly a Simon too. Great folk, they even go to introduce me to the staff, but my train is imminent and I need a final wee so must dash, but a positive experience in keeping with my day.
So how to get back to Epsom from here? I had to change somewhere, not sure where, Victoria I think.
I manage to retrieve my overnight bag, officially check in, and do a quick Tesco shop. Then I compose myself in the bathroom, take a deep breath, and head back into the Epsom night for my remaining required tick in the town ......
Tucked off the main drag, that perhaps explains why Rising Sun, Epsom (2830 / 5314) wasn't too Saturday nite crazytown. After three successive micros, an Antic and a ghost of Antic Christmas past, this relatively traditional boozer was manna to my veins! The bar is particularly impressive, a long rambling wooden thing like you often find in Scotland. NINE beermats on my table, and as I was still smarting from Oxfordshire's dearth, I decided to use them all. The 'Ordinary Bitter' drank smoothly, a bloke rubbed his girlfriends chilly kneecaps, then a bunch of Saturday night ladz with lego man haircuts wandered in, got served, but then seemed incapable of sitting down cos #SaturdayNightVibes Otherwise, a gentle soothing experience was had by all.
Never have I been so pleased to get home, get some sleep and a few days off yucky beer!
Join me next time, hopefully Sunday, when I tell you what's new in the east side of North Yorkshire.
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